


More than a Feeling

by misura



Category: Bannon & Clare Series - Lilith Saintcrow
Genre: Asexual Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-16 11:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16952847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: A typical day in the life of Archibald Bannon.





	More than a Feeling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [valmora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valmora/gifts).



_And here I was thinking that things might get uncomfortable._

Granted, the hiding place Valentinelli had selected for them could not precisely be called _comfortable_ ; it was rather cramped, not quite of a size meant to accommodate even one person, let alone two, and then, of course, there was the smell, although Clare imagined that their method of arriving here might be blamed for the latter as much as any quality intrinsic to the place itself.

Still, for a case that Clare had feared would require him to touch upon Divinity, which firmly belonged to the realm of the Illogic, events had unfolded to reveal a picture that contained very little to cause Clare concern for his facilities. In an odd way, he felt very nearly disappointed.

At the outlay, things had looked promising - or threatening, Clare supposed. A ring of smugglers, dealing nearly exclusively in artefacts said to contain power not merely aetheric in nature (which any of Sorcery's children might create, though Clare had been given to understand that some were more highly valued than others as a result of provenance more than anything else) but _divine_.

Had it not been for his acquaintance - or even, dare he say it, _friendship_ with the redoubtable Miss Bannon, Clare might have hesitated to take on such a case, however alluring. As it was, the combination of the facts already known combined with the prospect of perhaps needing to call on Miss Bannon for assistance had proved impossible to resist.

Not even the faint rumor of Dr Vance being about to resurface had given him pause. At least, not for very long. As Valentinelli had asked with one of his sneers: when was Vance ever _not_ up to something? There would be other opportunities for Clare to match wits with the man.

_And so, in conclusion, you have no one but yourself to blame for your current situation._

Clare sighed, which earned him a glare from Valentinelli, though the distance between their hiding place and the criminals they had come to witness sufficed to ensure such a soft sound could not possibly lead to their discovery.

Besides, Clare reflected, even if it did, he had little doubt that Valentinelli would be more than capable of dealing with them. From an unwelcome burden, the man had swiftly grown into a valuable asset and a valued companion, allowing Clare to venture into territories and situations he might have steered well clear of otherwise.

_Or quite possibly not, but I might have found cause to regret having done so._

Hands were shaken, goods exchanged.

_Another case closed._ Clare felt the pertinent facts slip away from his conscious mind already, into the drawer from which he would produce them when called upon.

 

"Bad business all around."

Clare shrugged. He had not bothered to remember the man's name, judging the information superfluous - as it was, in a manner of speaking. There was not the least need for him to make small talk with the inspector from the Yard.

Fortunately, the man seemed happy enough to monologue. "Worst thing is, they'll likely get off with a slap on the wrist. Fraud, rather than high treason." He spat.

_Fraud still carries a considerable penalty, my good sir._ Clare did not quite see why it should matter at all that the artefacts had not truly held any power. In his opinion, any man (or woman) seeking to undermine the ruling spirit of Britannia should not be judged merely by the _success_ of their enterprise, or lack thereof. Still, the law was clear.

Britannia ruled, and while she brooked no competitors, nor did she demand worship of her subjects. Only obedience, and such obedience included following the laws that regulated which items might or might not be traded upon her territory.

Religion was tolerated. Symbols and mementos, objects required for worship, likewise. A man might dress as he chose, provided his dress did not outrage the public decency.

Divinity, however, Britannia would not abide. Thus, the Unreason of religion, where men and women were permitted to worship only that which they could neither see nor touch nor hear nor prove. To Clare, this robbed the entire concept of what little appeal it might have held.

Yet he could not deny that it _did_ hold a certain appeal, and he could well imagine those whose minds had been less molded to Logic and Reason to find comfort in the simple act of faith, in viewing themselves not simply as subjects of an uncaring ruling spirit but as members of a community extending well beyond the borders of the Empire.

That some such would seek to replace faith and spiritual kinship with proof and tangible power, thereby leaving themselves open to be preyed upon by fraudsters and confidence men was regrettable, even though Clare rather felt that in most cases, the buyers received what they deserved. Fakes. Junk.

The detective wandered off, evidently picking up on his audience's lack of attention.

Clare looked around for Valentinelli and, failing to discover him, decided the assassin might have gone home already, bored with the proceedings.

_More likely, he has chosen to put me to another one of his little tests._

Clare sighed and, not being inclined to subject himself to the annoyance of hunting for a hansom in this part of town, started walking.

 

Had he put his mind to it, Clare felt certain that he would be able to pinpoint the exact moment upon which Valentinelli had decided to become his teacher as well as his bodyguard. There could be no doubt that the decision had been Valentinelli's, nor that Clare had found a use for the assassin's teachings often enough to feel them worth the time and effort.

Assassin Valentinelli might call himself, yet in Clare's company he functioned rather more often as bodyguard. As Miss Bannon had her Shield in the person of the formidable Mikal, so Clare had Valentinelli - though Clare considered it unlikely in the extreme that Miss Bannon would be putting up with even a tenth of what he put up with from Valentinelli.

Then again, there might be aspects to the relationship between Miss Bannon and her Shield that he, as an acquaintance, simply was not privy to. Clare did not imagine the reverse to be true, nor did he imagine Valentinelli would not return to Miss Bannon's service the instant she were to express a desire for him to do so.

In case of such an event, Valentinelli's training might serve to replace Valentinelli's presence. Thus, all was explained and arranged in accordance with Logic, without the least threat of Feeling.

_So why do I still feel threatened by it?_ True, Clare bore no illusions as to his own physical skills when compared to Valentinelli's. Yton's training focused on the mind, first and foremost, dedicating only such time to the body as was necessary to allow the mind to function at capacity.

Something cold touched the back of his neck.

"Were Ludo assassin, _mentale_ , you would be dead man."

Clare swallowed. Of course, he did not feel _afraid_. That would be extremely illogical. He might, or should, possibly, admit to a mild annoyance he did not in truth experience.

"You have stopped being an assassin, then? You surprise me." That last was true enough, though happily Valentinelli was less prone to surprising actions than Miss Bannon.

Then again, Valentinelli shared Clare's flat in Baker Street, whereas he only encountered Miss Bannon when there was work to be done. Clare wondered if he had perhaps deliberately chosen to leave Valentinelli's drawer not quite as well-filled as he might have, by asking a few more questions.

True, the mere act of Clare asking did not mean he would have received actual _answers_. Still, as a mentath, even a refusal to answer a question afforded him data, information. Material for deduction.

_Do I actually_ like _surprises?_ The notion was at once ridiculous and intriguing.

"Bah." Valentinelli sheathed his knife. "You joke. Who laughs when you get killed by amateur, eh?"

_Not you, my dear assassin. As to me, I will be dead._ Thus, the answer to Valentinelli's question became elementary. "No one."

Valentinelli sneered. "Being clever never stop blade or bullet."

_Which explains my need for you, sweet Ludo._ Not Miss Bannon's attachment to Mikal, quite, but then she was a sorceress while Mikal was her Shield _\- and something else as well, I think, though again, I seem not quite inclined to dig deeper into the matter._

Not Feeling, that: merely applied Logic. A mentath was only human, and the world full of matters and mysteries. Clare might as easily deduce the origin of his breakfast, track down the farm animals that had supplied the milk and cheese on his table as he might solve a murder or track down a criminal.

_Unless that criminal is a mentath himself, and one with a rather high opinion of himself._

By necessity, a mentath needs focus his deductions. One could not walk around deducing about everything one encountered - at least, not without losing one's sanity.

_The game may still be afoot. If he has already set his plan in motion, it may be all the easier for me to perceive his endgame and checkmate him._

Valentinelli sneered. "Go home now. Ludo tired."

 

The morning mail brought little in the way of surprises. Rather, it presented Clare with the usual mix of missing husbands, missing wives, missing heirs and missing heirlooms.

One or two seemed promising, requiring perhaps indeed the services of a mentath, rather than a frank and honest consideration of the circumstances under which the person or item in question had disappeared. Once, Clare might have smothered his scruples and offered the truth along with his (modest) bill; now, finding himself in reasonable financial comfort, he entrusted the replies to such inquiries to Valentinelli, who possessed a fair hand and an unsuspected (and rarely practiced) gift for diplomacy.

At this point, to be forced to make do without Valentinelli would be a decided inconvenience. Clare ought not to have matters come this far, yet to not put Valentinelli to as good a use as he might would have lacked logic as much as the rise of Feeling whenever he considered Valentinelli leaving his service.

Clare flattered himself to think such would only happen when Miss Bannon would have a need for the assassin. Based on what he knew of her, the need would be dire indeed in such an instance, and it would be ungentlemanly in the extreme for Clare to begrudge her the assassin.

"Eat. Drink."

Then again, he might surely spare Valentinelli for a few days, particularly if in doing so, he might find himself working side by side with the unpredictable Miss Bannon again.

Clare sighed and drank some lukewarm tea. "I will also have some coja, I think." It might help clear his thoughts, enable him sort out the facts of his own desires and put them in their proper drawer.

"Bah." Valentinelli poured him some more tea. "Run away to sea. Run away to lover. Dead. Dead. Run away to join circus. Stolen. Only the last one is mystery to Ludo. Not to _mentale_ , eh? Not need coja."

_Who said anything about_ needing _coja?_ "Theater troupe, rather than circus, I thought."

Valentinelli sneered.

"Well. Close enough for practical purposes." Clare considered. It was the uncertainty, he thought. The not knowing. He was a mentath; he liked Order and Logic. Reason, though he doubted that he could claim there being anything _reasonable_ about this unseemly fretting he found himself prone to from time to time, when he had little else to occupy his mind.

_Only then? Remember Master Brasscount's lessons. To soften the truth is to court death._

_Which would be fair enough, giving dear Ludo's avocation._

Clare did not think he had been indulging in any courting, though. The idea was ridiculous, not the least due to Valentinelli's likely reaction to such an action.

Simply because Valentinelli had saved his life multiple times and found Clare's company tolerable and displayed a sense of protectiveness that he expressed by alternately mothering Clare and bullying him, that did not mean - _what? Does the answer lie too deep in the realm of Feeling for me to grasp it? And if that is so, may I not deduce an answer from that fact itself?_

_And what of myself? Would I not act to save his life, consequences be d_ed? Do I not meekly accept being mothered and bullied, whereas with anyone else, I would have been firm in protesting and indeed refusing to be treated thus?_

_The exception being, possibly, Miss Bannon, though she hardly seems the mothering type. Even so, I have no doubt that she would protect me as fiercely and with as great a determination as I would her, should circumstances call for it._

Clare frowned, turning the thought over in his mind. It was simple truth. Not Logic, to be sure, yet not so unrooted in Reason that Feeling threatened. He felt perfectly safe contemplating Valentinelli's devotion and loyalty to him, and his to Valentinelli and Miss Bannon. These were facts. He might deduce from them - with caution and some reservation, perhaps, but even so.

_I am no longer alone, nor would I wish to return to such a state._

The realization should have unsettled him. To form attachments, relationships, for a mentath was to allow Feeling into one's life and, more fatally, one's mind. Students at Yton were encouraged to make acquaintances with other students, to study together when profitable. To stay in touch in order to exchange information if and when doing so was reasonable and logical.

"Bah." Valentinelli growled. "Quiet never mean good things from you, _mentale_."

Clare briefly considered sharing his conclusions. Very briefly. "If you think that the missing heirloom is the case we ought to take, then take it we shall, my dear assassin. I trust you."

"And what good is trusting Ludo going to do you when you do not also listen, eh?"

_Miss Bannon, I wonder if I might call on you for no better reason than to thank you for your gift._ Such a visit would hardly be proper, Clare decided with some regret. _Perhaps I might contrive to get myself injured - except that such an act would likely drive Ludo to violence, to say nothing of the physical harm to my person. Alas. Nor do I think Miss Bannon would be best pleased by such a stratagem._

"I always listen," Clare said, which was true. Being a mentath, he might flawlessly recall each and every detail of every conversation he had made, every crime scene he had visited.

"With your ears, perhaps." Valentinelli sneered.

_What else would you expect me to use?_ Clare finished his tea and started on his toast. The letter had been brief, but informative. The paper and the ink suggested - _yes. This might serve very well to keep me occupied for a few days._

"Ludo go and reply to boring letters now." Valentinelli rose.

"Thank you. I do not know what I would do without you."

"My dear chap," Valentinelli said, "you don't? How shocking. I dare say it's a simple enough matter. Without a doubt, you would die. Rather surprised, I would imagine. Was there anything else?"

_I dare say it is not only mentaths who need defend themselves against Feeling. Ah well._

"We shall start with the pawnbroker at Picadilly."

Valentinelli sneered and nodded once. "Ludo make ready."

_That is me put in my proper place again, I suppose._ Clare shook his head. _Now, if only the Empire might see fit to face a small crisis, preferably sorcerous in nature, I might count myself well content indeed. Doctor who?_


End file.
